to his house by the three was military style, albeit crude, and they weren’t there to rob him. So who were they?
If they were any of the felons he’d convicted while a prosecutor, they would have waited and tried for him in town, drive-by style. Those men, though convicted, weren’t street stupid. They would leave calling cards and make sure everyone knew it was them. There were no personal enemies he knew of, so what was this about?
By the time he reached the house, he decided his situation was too complicated for local law enforcement to handle. The City of Dundee relied on the Yamhill County Sheriff to enforce its laws. He’d spend the next week trying to convince a room of deputy sheriffs he hadn’t mistakenly killed three trespassers. If he got Detective Carson involved, and there was any possible tie to Martin Research, he’d probably wind up in jail. That left the Senator. He’d want to know if this somehow involved his friend, Richard Martin, but maybe he could pull a few strings and get him out of this mess.
Chapter 18
In the next half hour, Drake loaded the three bodies in the Suburban and drove them into the outbuilding. When the sliding door was closed, he laid each of them out on the concrete floor and placed their weapons beside them. He’d leave the forensic stuff to others, but at least for now, they were out of sight.
Back in the house, he made sure Lancer had a full bowl of water, and went directly to his study to call his father-in-law. It was 3:00 a.m. He hoped the Senator was a light sleeper.
“Don’t think you’ve ever called me this early. You all right?”
“Not exactly sir, can we talk?”
“Give me a moment to get downstairs.”
While he waited, Drake thought about what he should say over an unsecured phone line. He’d be careful, but the Senator needed to know his predicament.
“Okay, fire away, while I start some coffee. Something tells me I might not get back to bed for a while,” Senator Hazelton said.
“Three uninvited visitors came calling an hour ago. Unfortunately, this was the last call they’ll ever make. I could use some help deciding how to clean up the mess they left.”
After a long pause, the Senator asked, “Their intent wasn’t friendly?”
“You could say that. My reception wasn’t either.”
“You think this is related to the matter I asked you to look into?”
“Possible.”
“I see.” After another long pause, the Senator said, “Are you saying your visitors will be staying for a while? Maybe permanently, if we’re not able to make other arrangements?”
“I don’t see them going anywhere,” Drake said.
“Let me make a call or two and see if I can help. You all right in the meantime?”
“I’m okay. I’ve stored their things. I’ll wait for your call. Use my cell phone number.”
Drake didn’t know who the Senator would call, but he was relieved to know help might be on the way. He started his own coffee maker, and suddenly realized he was hungry. He poured a tall glass of orange juice, filled a bowl with Cheerios and milk, and sat down to refuel himself.
With a shudder, he felt anger boil up. He had controlled his emotions because he knew, unleashed, anger got you killed. Now it raged within him, like a rogue wave smashing against the rocks. Whoever was behind this would regret it. He was trained to hunt and he was starting to get a scent again.
Drake was drinking his second cup of coffee when the Senator called.
“I have arranged for transportation for your guests. In maybe thirty minutes, you’ll get a call. The person will ask you to confirm that there are three passengers and a dog named Lancelot to be picked up. Correct her mistake about your dog’s name. After you’ve bundled your guests off for the night, call me. We’ll find time for coffee tomorrow.”
Drake almost smiled. The Senator sounded as if he’d been handling cleanup operations his whole career. His years on the Senate Intelligence Committee certainly would have exposed him to the ways of covert ops. Perhaps there was a side to the Senator he needed to know a lot more about.
Thirty-five minutes later, Drake’s phone rang.
“Mr. Drake, I’ve come to pick up three passengers and someone named Lancelot. Does that mean I will have four passengers?”
The voice was soft and meant to sound servile, but the tone of authority came through loud and clear.
“The name is Lancer. He’s my dog. He’ll be staying with me, so there are only three passengers. Is that something you can handle?”
“Very good, sir. I think we can handle your problem. We should be there in another five minutes,” the female voice said. “It would be helpful if you would leave a light on for us.”
Drake put the phone down, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake asking the Senator for help. The woman he talked to had handled the call efficiently. There was something in her voice that said she didn’t appreciate what she was being asked to do.
In less than five minutes, Drake spotted two white Suburbans pulling into his driveway. They slowed as they approached the turnaround in front of his house. When the lead vehicle stopped, the front passenger door opened and a woman stepped out.
She was tall, with long brown hair. In khaki pants and blue windbreaker, she looked law-enforcement confident walking his way.
He stepped out his front door and walked down to meet her.
“I’m Liz Strobel, Mr. Drake,” she said as she reached him. “I’m told you have a problem and need our help.”
Drake shook her outstretched hand. Her eyes were light blue above high cheekbones, and her lips were full but pressed tightly together. Ice Lady was the identifier that first came to mind, but maybe cold and tough better described the woman. Whatever she was, she wasn’t wasting any time taking control of the situation.
“Who are the men you brought with you?” Drake asked.
“The men are Secret Service. We’re handling the advance for Secretary Rallings’s Seattle and Portland visits. We were closest when Senator Hazelton called him and asked for help.”
“And who are you?” Drake asked.
“I’m the Secretary’s executive assistant. I was FBI before the Secretary asked me to help him pull together DHS. Don’t worry Mr. Drake, I’ve been around. I have field experience. I know what I’m doing.”
“And what are you doing here, on behalf of the DHS Secretary and Senator Hazelton?”
“Mr. Drake, I was told you might have killed three men you think might be connected to the murder at Martin Research. Your father-in-law and the Secretary think if there’s anything to your suspicions, they should look into it. If it turns out you killed men who didn’t have a clue the Secretary was coming to town, we’ll turn it over to local law enforcement. If there is a connection, we need to know it, so the Secret Service can protect the Secretary.”
“I didn’t know the Secret Service protected Cabinet heads,” Drake said.
“After 9/11, the Secret Service reports to the Secretary, not to Treasury. The Secretary has declined full protection, but a small detail accompanies him when he makes public appearances. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened,” Strobel said, stepping back and crossing her arms across her chest.
Drake knew about VIP visits from his days in the D.A.’s office. Protection details didn’t have time to investigate ancillary matters when they were in the field. Something else was going on, not just the murder of Richard Martin’s secretary.
“You got here pretty fast,” Drake mused. “Is there something you know about these guys that I should know? Has someone threatened the Secretary, or the Senator? Do you think this is somehow related?”
“Mr. Drake, the sun will be up in two hours and ten minutes. I’d like to be out of here by then. I’ll tell you what little I can. U.S. and Canadian intelligence agencies believe terrorist cells are planning assassinations of North
